Poem of the weekAutumn

with sadness for the dying year,

wild geese fly with straightlined grace,

to their distant suns, then my heart will grieve

with the falling golden leaves.

As the last leaf clings so must I

to youth and warmth and life,

yesterday’s spring will come no more.

The days we used to know, will soon be

out of sight beneath the softly falling snow.

Sleeping snowdrops below the copper leaves

will bring a hope renewed, remembering the

sunlit hours that only summer can bring.

Returnign swallows and nestlings crey

The golden bells of the daffodils,

will once more teach my heart to sing.

Catherine Neale